Raison d'être
by Astrobright68
Summary: In the wake of finding himself purposeless, Autor's purpose is found. Takes place during Akt 21.


Raison d'etre/Reason to be

**Raison d'être**

…_Then what was __**I**__ born into this world for?_

The hollow clack of his heels against the pavement resonated with unfufillment, and he muttered an inquiry which had no answer. He felt years of research clatter to the floor like a fallen quill—soft, insignificant, except to the one who wielded it. He walked towards nowhere, feeling emptiness of his question pulse behind the eclipse of his frames, suddenly halting at **her**.

_This is the answer,_ was the thought that crossed his mind, unbidden, as he gazed at the streak of shadow and light that was embracing the cobblestones with unconscious grace. She rose and her eyes fell, studying him, scorching him with her pale beauty. His heart quickened.

Eyes like red wine drew him in as his body retreated, finding the stone wall behind him both a blessing and a curse. Her cool ivory fingertips moved delicately, with a slightly hesitant air until they determined their destination to be the left side of his chest. He felt his face heat as she pressed into him, suddenly enveloped in a scent that was nothing less than intoxicating.

_Come with me._ She spoke with soft lips and scarlet eyes.

Consent tumbled from his mouth, but it didn't need to. She'd already received it from the bewildered brown eyes; the same brown eyes which were so often perceptive behind the thin-frames of his spectacles; the brown eyes that were left unguarded, _unsure_ for the moment.

Beneath the boughs of the forgotten theater, she drove him, casting them both with the darkened shadows of performances long lost. The location was unusual to say the least, but if this thought occurred to him it certainly didn't halt his feet, and the quiet air was filled with the echo of their footsteps, the sound being overpowered only by his voice. She was silent, but he had words for two, stating the theory that motivated him, the theory that he knew to be true, the theory that **he** intended to prove.

The town was controlled by stories and those who inhabited it were unable to see it.

He had researched this often and mulled on it more, but in stark contrast to the amount of time he'd spent on the notion, he'd spent remarkably less time _speaking_ on it. He found most of his peers to be frivolous and dim; certainly incapable of digesting such a concept and far too focused on the latest gossip to have an interest in anything of **value**.

But she…**she **was different, and the words flew from him easily and without hesitation, as if saying them to her made them true, as if her presence assured they would come to pass. _Speaking to her…is like story spinning_, he thought suddenly as his gaze trailed over the long legs that were leading him. _Both liberating and powerful_.

His thoughts broke for a moment when she halted, but her words filled him with wonder and awe, feeling all the more certain that he was capable of unearthing the mystery of the town, feeling all the more certain of what he'd known all this time— that **he** would change the world.

Blinded by this, the brown spheres that prided themselves in noticing everything missed the glint in her ruby eyes, the glint which might have suggested a certain…_malevolence_ in her actions. But as soon as it was there, it flickered from existence, and her gaze directed forward once more, leading him onward to a destination he'd yet to question.

And as he followed her, as his voice depicted the manipulation of Gold Crown Town, he vaguely felt a tug, almost…almost like the very marionette strings he was describing, he felt the cords of his heart being jerked in a direction he should have expected the moment he'd come upon the fallen dancer. Was this the pull of a puppeteer? Was this more proof of his theory; were these feelings molded by a flourish of ink and the smirk of an author? Or…was this the work of something stronger?

Whatever the cause, the male attempted no resistance, drew up no conclusions, and the ever buzzing inquiries of his mind fell into a deafening silence.

Instead, he spoke. _…Seems I've fallen in love with you._

There was a sharp intake of breath, a halt of steps, and the rustle of raven-colored hair as she turned towards him, her gaze steady and questioning. …_With me?_ He affirmed this without hesitation, and her eyes never left his as she presented him with another soft inquiry. _…Enough to sacrifice your life?_

_Yes, __if it is for your sake_, was the quiet response, his captivated eyes drinking of the lovely girl before him…but an abrupt turn severed his supply, her quiet scoff scorching his ears in its dismissal.

…_Ridiculous._

He stepped toward her turned back, his voice as persistent as the emotion that had gripped him. _It's the truth! I really—_

_I said it's __**ridiculous**__!_ The harsh words sliced through his tenderness with ease, and her back remained to him, rejecting his advance and rejecting his affection, her brows furrowed in a troubled expression that he could not see as her fists clenched at her sides.

There was an automatic shirk at the sharp tone of her voice, and he paused, pushing his dark frames up the bridge of his nose, the faint perspiration clinging to his skin having caused them to slide downwards. _…Perhaps. It's possible that these feelings are preposterous. But…_His head lifted, eyes roving the dark head of hair, as if hoping it would provide him with a favorable response. _…Logical or not, loving you…is all I can do._

If the lily white face displayed a reaction, it could not be seen. The curled locks of dark hair had become a shield of sorts…but whom it was protecting was as yet unclear.

The air seemed still for a moment, the low sounds of breathing being the only noise that reached either of their ears…and then she spoke, the faint tinkle of the suggestion of laughter prefacing her statements. _…All you can do?_ They were quiet, impassive words, but a certain undercurrent to them caused the male to lean closer, nearer to the soft voice. _…You still seem able to live, breathe…_ The porcelain lips that he couldn't see pursed themselves. _…Your heart is still beating._

His brown eyes widened in sudden introspection. Living, breathing, until this moment had been devoted to the mystery that drove him, to the curious events that the townspeople were unable to distinguish from reality. He had long determined that solving this puzzle, this enigma, was his destiny.

But…even with this knowledge, even though he was certain that his fate lay in decrypting the unknown, that hadn't stopped him from questioning his purpose, his reason for being born into this world of stories and intrigue…but his gaze settled on her and the questions ceased.

Even if the story did influence what occurred in Gold Crown Town…this feeling welling up in his chest, it was stronger than what someone could control...this emotion was stronger than the story. This, he decided, was something he could give himself to, give his **life** to. The lean musician took a step towards her and spoke in earnest. _...You're the one it beats for, Rue._

The dark eyelashes fluttered shut in a grimace of anguish and her clenched fists shook slightly; a movement too faint for him to see. With some trepidation, his hand reached for her, so close to him, yet somehow so distant…but as if sensing the approaching warmth and wanting nothing to do with it, vibrant orbs of crimson snapped open, a sudden cold confidence radiating from the prima as she turned toward him with finality, toward the man who loved her when he shouldn't. _…For me._ The tense fingers that had been curled into a fist unraveled and he flushed faintly as she trailed the tips around the curve of the uniform's brooch, along the stiff fabric of the neat ascot, and down the front of his clothed chest to hover above the rapidly beating muscle in question, her fingers both icy and surprisingly gentle. _…This…is for me?_

He managed a stammer. _Y-yes. I—_

_And this…_ The claret eyes trickled up to the overheated face and her digits followed, meeting the warmth tinting his cheekbones with fleeting touches. _…belongs to me as well?_

He reddened at the soft fingertips on his cheek, but embarrassment didn't hinder a response laced with sincerity. _…Everything._

An unidentifiable emotion briefly passed through her red gaze, and the thin fingers were gone; she turned from him, arms tucked carefully around her form as her heeled shoes continued their descent down the stairs, into the empty black of the unknown. There was a pregnant pause before her lips parted once more. _…Show me_.

As if transfixed by the caress of her hand, it took him a moment to realize that only the memory of her scent remained before him, and he stumbled to follow her in the sinking darkness of the stairway. Managing to regain his footing, he hastened behind her, shadowing her with a cautious hand on his thin rims. …_Show you? W-what exactly do you—?_

The halt of her steps signaled the bottom of the stairs and the chill air seeped into them without remorse. The pair had dipped into an area without light, and perhaps a bit belatedly, for the first time a small part of him wondered exactly where they were. The passing thought was interrupted by her sharp turn towards him, her voice as dark and quiet as the air around them, the air that seemed almost ready to suffocate the two. _Show me…_ There was a step in his direction, the black satin pointe shoe going unseen by the male. _By giving me your heart._

The grip of whatever had grasped his heart was strong, so his surprise was faint and his hesitation momentary, brown eyes filled only of her as he nodded. …_Of course._

Her expression could not be seen amongst the swirl of black, and they cleared to reveal an inky ring of feathers, seemingly hidden within her all along. The dark pillar of ravens lifted her as she spread her wings, her pale face, thin arms, and the bare skin her feathered garment revealed being the only streaks of light in the havoc of red and black. The furious red of the scene reflected in the broken lenses on the stone floor.

But the owner of those spectacles would never see this image. The somewhat sharp claws of the crows that lifted him supported the arch of his back without gentleness as they brought him towards her and he was almost uncomfortable...but he wasn't. Any feelings of discomfort or unease seemed insignificant now...he could give his heart to her. To Rue. He could make her happy with this. He had a worth, a purpose, a reason to exist. And it was her. With this...he could change the world. Giving her his life, his heart...it was all he could do. But...it was enough.

And as the male relinquished the reins of his heart, of his _fate_, the wet trail creeping down the cheeks of the colorless face was observed by the glasses alone.


End file.
